


Entropy

by pinkwinwin



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Skyrim Fusion, Assassins & Hitmen, Blood and Violence, Dark Brotherhood - Freeform, Dark Brotherhood Questline, Dubious Morality, Inspired by Skyrim, M/M, Magic, Minor Character Death, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Past Abuse, Slow Burn, established gyuhao
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-26 01:08:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21365656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkwinwin/pseuds/pinkwinwin
Summary: "Mother, are the evil born or created?"She holds him close, threading her fingers through his hair. "Both, my child."
Relationships: Hong Jisoo | Joshua/Yoon Jeonghan, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	Entropy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deadlylampshades](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadlylampshades/gifts).

> Welcome to my major project the past few months, and possibly the most in-depth fic I've written for Seventeen. I've wanted to explore the concept of Skyrim as an AU for a long time, and this was the perfect opportunity to do so. Knowledge of the Elder Scrolls series or Skyrim in particular is not necessary for this fic! Hopefully this is just a fun nod to the series if you are familiar with it, and a fantasy-driven au read for people who aren't.  
I would like readers to know I would characterize this fic as **dark fic**, meaning topics and themes discussed may be heavy for some people. I will warn at the beginning of each chapter what might happen, but here are some overall warnings for people not familiar with the Dark Brotherhood questline in Skyrim.  
  
**Overall Warnings and Triggers**  
This fic will feature:  
— Murder and violence (assassins)  
— Theft  
— Vague mentions of various abuse  
— Parental death  
— All around dubious morality  
This chapter alone deals with a character's traumatic past, which includes: parental death, attempted assault, vague (but barely referenced) physical abuse, murder, and grief. It gets less intense/heavy as the chapters go, but I had to present the backstory for context and it is tough as an orphan in Skyrim.  
Happy Birthday, Ayesha. I hope this is the perfect plotty, slow burn jihan with Dark Joshua you deserve.  
[playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3YGXkctWWPRkF9v9S2WQ41?si=CSK4PTvTQfSlwEOClh-Xhw)  
#

There is a certain energy that seeps through Skyrim, one that invites a lifetime of exploring the beaten path and a chance to truly make a name for oneself. The Companions offer kinship and a good name amongst these parts, the College of Winterhold promises magical skill beyond what one can ever comprehend. The War gives those a chance to fight for what side they truly believe in, giving the satisfaction of dying for one’s country in either Stormcloak or Imperial armor.

Jeonghan’s mother whispered promises of greatness into his ear at night, told him grand tales of mighty warriors as they picked wild berries in the sunshine. He would be great one day too, she told him. They would tell stories of his triumphs for generations to come. The Throat of the World was open to him and all his endeavors, as if he was standing in the sun overlooking the entire land. 

But for every bright spot, there is darkness. 

There is shadow that leaks into the hearts of many, that cloaks these cities and towns by night. It is a whisper amongst only the bravest citizens willing to speak their name. It is people with the Wolf’s Blood that blend amongst the average man. It is the blood drinkers that creep into houses at night and steal children for their meal. It is the group that live beneath the city limits that are the reason the High King’s entire stash of rare gemstones disappeared in a single evening.

Most fearsome of all, it is the people who move like a spirit and slash the necks of the most unsuspecting.

Jeonghan knows of them, he listened to them whispered in his ears as a warning by his mother— and then, by the ones that took him in when she succumbed to their brutal hand. 

An accident, they had called it. Sometimes assassins get contracts mistranslated, eliminate the wrong target, do their best to cover their tracks. But Jeonghan cannot forget their uniform as it glinted in the moonlight of their common room. Cannot forget the quiet swearing after they realized what they had done. Cannot quiet the sound of his own mother gasping for her last breaths and reaching for him from where he hid beneath their shared bed.

☾

Time waits for no one and certainly not for orphaned children, so Jeonghan is forced to readjust. He pockets away the little gold his mother kept in her nightstand and takes the ring off her finger. It’s gold and intricately carved, the only physical reminder Jeonghan has left to carry of his family. He knows even at eight years old to wear it on a chain around his neck but keep it tucked beneath his shirt, lest prying eyes view him as a target.

It doesn’t matter what he does, however, misfortune seems to follow Jeonghan like a shadow.

He’s forced to scavenge for food, swiping loaves of bread from merchants when they aren’t looking. This lasts only a few months before a group of bards find him, grabbing him by the collar and dragging him into a nearby tavern. They look at him with Septims in their eyes, and Jeonghan has no choice but to work under their control. Years go by and he lives a life of dancing to their music, charming patrons out of their money with a bat of an eye. 

The bards turn too cruel by the time he’s twelve, and Jeonghan gets taken under the wing of the barmaidens. They teach him how to cook, how to wait tables, and most of all they give him a sort of comfort he hasn’t found since his mother held him close to her chest and sang him to sleep. He loves them for the short years he has them, letting the women fawn over his looks and comb through his long dark hair. They claim he brings in more money for the tavern than anyone else, that they’ll soon be put out of a job thanks to his beauty, but it is only words of kindness. 

☾

On a night when he’s sixteen and he’s letting Jinsoul, one of the maidens, comb through his damp hair on a trip to the hot springs, they’re ambushed. It’s only a drunken townsman but there’s want in his eyes when he grabs her by her arm and wretches her toward him. Jeonghan kills his first man that night, a dagger to the neck as he gives Jinsoul an escape.

The ring lays heavy against his naked chest. He watches the life leave his eyes, and his path is changed forever.

It happens quickly after that, guilt being pressed down his chest into pride. He was able to protect someone the way he couldn’t protect his mother. The barmaidens assure him he was doing the right thing, that they’re grateful for his sacrifice, but the air is tinted with fear for months afterwards. Only Jinsoul looks at him with the same kindness, still squeezes his hands.

“I think I need to take my leave,” he tells her one night, when only the two of them are left around the fire after a long day of work. She reaches out, pushes the hair out of his eyes.

“You’re always selfless,” she mutters, a sad smile tugging her lips. She is beautiful in the way that fondness seems to leak from her touch, that sisterly bond she has formed with Jeonghan over the years. She doesn’t scold him in this moment like she usually does, just holds him as the light of the fire dances across both of their faces. “When do you leave?”

  
  
“Three days. I’ll send back what I can when I earn some money,” he says, taking the hand from his cheek and holding it between two of his own. He looks up at Jinsoul as her eyes as they shine with melancholy. “And of course I’ll write.”

“With that penmanship?” Jinsoul asks, a laugh escaping her lips. “I won’t hold my breath.”

He brings her hand to his lips and kisses the gentle skin there. And three days later, like clockwork, he leaves.

The journey to Riften is not an easy one, and inside the city walls is no sanctuary. Poverty and crime rears their ugly heads, and Jeonghan has to keep quiet in order not to be thrown into the scuffle of a petty thief being taken down by far too many guards than necessary. He arrives on only a secondhand rumor about a man named Brynjolf who can teach him the ways of the Thief. He’s a quick-witted man with hair as red as the setting sun, and he takes Jeonghan under his wing and presses a set of armor into his hands.

He thrives. It’s almost impressive how quickly he takes to the craft. His fingers are like silk, slipping into people’s pockets and taking their valuables as if it was nothing. He is silent when he moves, slipping into businesses and manors alike with ease. He climbs the ranks over the years, becoming Brynjolf’s right hand man and a trusted member of the guild. 

He is twenty-four when he travels to Windhelm to clear out a manor of their precious gemstones. It is in the darkness of night when Jeonghan hears something in an abandoned home, his curiosity getting the best of him. A quick pick of the lock has him sneaking inside, only to find the disturbing image of a child bent over a corpse, chanting as his youthful face is illuminated by candles.

“Oh, you came!” the boy cries, seeing Jeonghan in the darkness. He can’t be more than eleven but he is fearless as he scurries up to Jeonghan and grips his hand. “I knew if I did the ritual enough, the Dark Brotherhood would hear me!”

  
  
Jeonghan finds himself stilling at the words only for a moment before crouching down and looking the boy in the eye. He hopes the low light of the candles mostly obscure the darkness swirling in his eyes. “What are you summoning the Dark Brotherhood for?”

The boy’s face changes from one of joy to solemn. “My mother, she...” he trails off, gaze sinking to the floor. He looks up at Jeonghan a moment later, determination in his eyes. “I was sent to an orphanage, and this woman, she’s terrible! I need you to kill her.”

A pang of hurt radiates through Jeonghan’s chest. They are much of the same, an orphan under dark pretenses. He resists the urge to stroke the child’s hair or whisper soothing words. Instead, he steels his gaze and nods curtly. “Tell me the location.”

And that is how he comes to where he is now— standing over the body of an old woman bleeding out in her own bedroom. He feels only relief as he thinks of how her cruelty is stopped, how she can never harm another child like the one so desperate to eliminate her. He finds the woman’s diary in her nightstand, with entries of disgusting horrors she had inflicted on the children and all her future plans to torture them. 

He drops it into the waterways of Riften, the reflection of the moonlight disappearing in ripples as the book sinks into its depths. 

☾

In the days that follow, it is quiet. Brynjolf assures him he did the right thing, his hand heavy on Jeonghan’s shoulder. He thinks of how the boy look when he broke the news, how her death brought a sense of calm to his face. He smiled up at Jeonghan then, looking very much his age— still a child in so many ways. He did the right thing, Jeonghan tells himself.

This gets harder to believe when a note is delivered to him by a courier, a black handprint looming back at him on a scroll with the words  _ We Know  _ inscribed below it _ . _

☾

Jeonghan wakes with a gasp, with the sinking feeling that something is deeply wrong wedged in his throat like a scream. And something  _ is _ very wrong, because he’s in a place he’s never been before.

It’s a shack, that much he can tell. The floor is dusty and there’s a hole near the roof where Jeonghan can hear the rain. An empty bed frame is pushed into a corner, a barren fireplace stares back at him. He blinks, willing himself awake when a hum over his shoulder causes him to twist around.

“Sleep well?” a voice asks, smooth as silk. The person sits on top of a bookshelf, toned leg swinging off the edge. They are covered head-to-toe in a sickeningly familiar armor pulled straight from Jeonghan’s memories, the black and red fabric clinging to their body like a second skin. 

“Who are you?” Jeonghan asks, his voice sharp as knives. He hopes it’s intimidating, but by the way the person looks at him in an almost bored manner tells him it isn’t. 

“Does it matter?” the person asks, and by now Jeonghan is certain they’re male. He leans against the wall with ease, leg still swinging idly. The mask still covers the lower half of his face, obscuring it and muffling his speech. “You’re alive— unlike a certain poor old woman in Riften, hmm?”

Jeonghan narrows his eyes, slides his hand to the dagger on his hip. “You know about that?”

  
  
The man is amused when he speaks again. “Half of Skyrim knows about your little stunt. Murder in an orphanage tends to spread.” He rolls his shoulders back, and Jeonghan can see him arch an angled brow. “Oh, but I must applaud you for that. Your work is clean, and clearly she had it coming.”

Jeonghan swallows, his throat dangerously dry. “Then why am I here?”

  
  
“There’s just one problem,” the man replies after a moment. If his words were amused now, they take on a darker tone. “That boy was looking for me and my associates. In short, that was a stolen kill. One you must repay to the Dark Brotherhood.”

Jeonghan thinks of his life up until now. He thinks about his mother, about her ring still tucked against his chest. He thinks of the bards and barmaidens that raised him, of Brynjolf and the Guild. Most of all, he thinks of the boy who looked at him with such hope— and he finds that if this is how Jeonghan dies, he can’t seem to regret his actions.

He shifts his body until he’s kneeling, facing the stranger head on. “Alright,” he says. “If I have a debt to repay, then take it.”

  
  
The man laughs at this, and it’s jarring how musical it sounds. In another life, perhaps he would fall in love with such a voice. “Oh no, you misunderstand. It is not  _ your _ life I’m taking.”

He gestures to the opposite end of the shack, and Jeonghan’s stomach knots when he sees what’s there.

Three people, kneeling and hooded. It’s clear they’ve been kidnapped with the black cloth covering their faces and the bounds around their wrists. The voice behind him sounds sweet as honey mead.

“Take your pick, or slaughter them all. One of them has a contract on their head, you see.”

Jeonghan knows this is not something to be negotiated, so he stands on shaky legs. He attempts to steel himself as he draws his dagger, his bow likely still back at the tavern where he had taken his rest. He hates the intimacy of such a weapon, the blade sitting heavy in his hand. He presses the blade carefully against the chest of a large warrior, judging from his armor and stature.

“Speak,” he says, firm. The voice that answers him is booming, mocking in a way that reminds him of the bards that made life so miserable. The kill is easy. 

He stares at the dagger in his hand, dripping dark crimson. The man in the corner of the shack chuckles darkly. “Oh, how terribly interesting.”

  
  
“Which one was it?” Jeonghan asks, still staring at the weapon. He hears the man click his tongue behind him.

“Oh no, you don’t get to know that information. Your work here is done.” Jeonghan turns to look at him, and isn’t shocked when he finds the man in the same blasé position as before. “I ordered you to kill, and you obeyed. That is something I look for in an associate.”

  
  
Jeonghan takes him in carefully, mulling over his next words. “Am I able to leave now?”

  
  
The stranger shrugs his shoulders, indifferent, but he fishes something out of his pocket. He tosses it towards Jeonghan, who catches the key in his hands. “Here’s your way out, but I think we should consider working again. Don’t you think?”

Jeonghan looks at him, but stays silent. The stranger rolls his ankle, shifts his body so he’s facing Jeonghan more.

“Our Sanctuary, it’s beneath a road just outside of Falkreath.” The stranger looks at him to ensure Jeonghan is paying attention before continuing. “If you want your new life to begin, find us there.”

The invitation sits like bile in the back of Jeonghan’s throat, joining the people who made his life the way it is now. He looks down at the key in his hands, rusted bronze rubbing against his skin. The face of the boy flashes in Jeonghan’s mind, reminding him that not all who contact the Brotherhood is evil. Some are just broken, looking for a way out of the hand they’re dealt in life.

When Jeonghan looks up, the captors and stranger are gone. He is alone. 

☾

His feet touch the cobbled path outside of Falkreath several moons later, when his head is still clouded with doubt. There is a pull that sits in Jeonghan’s chest, however— the promise that perhaps he can shift the perspective he has of the Brotherhood. On the off chance he cannot, Jeonghan tells himself that he can destroy the organization from the inside out.

Bravery sits on his shoulders as he walks down the path and then off it like the stranger told him. Beyond the brush and trees, a small clearing greets him. The pond is dark and murky, but the door tucked just beneath the hillside is even more ominous. Jeonghan approaches it, his eyes tracing the skeleton carved into its surface. In the center of the forehead, a hand sits the color of crimson. And then, an omnipresent and breathy voice speaks to him.

“What is the Music of Life?” the door asks, the hand glowing bright red. Jeonghan balls his hands into fists, remembers what the stranger told him before disappearing.

“Silence, my brother,” Jeonghan replies, shocking even himself at how firm he sounds. The door glows ever brighter, the color of the setting sun. It slowly unlocks as the voice speaks once again.

“Welcome home.” 

Jeonghan has no choice but to push inside, the soft glow of torches against the wall welcoming him. The staircase down is angled and rocky, but he eventually finds himself in a common room of sorts. There is a map of Skyrim splayed out on a table, a dagger plunged into the center. A bookcase in the far corner of the room is lined with several bound books. The same silky voice greets him.

“You made it,” the stranger says. This time his face isn’t obscured, and Jeonghan can tell even in the golden light of the torches that he is beautiful. Dark hair and piercing grey eyes draw him in, his lips curled like a feline’s into a smile. He takes Jeonghan’s hand, patting it slightly.

“I’m ready,” Jeonghan tells the man. He smiles even wider at this, gripping a bound set of armor on the table and pressing it into Jeonghan’s grip. He then reaches up, curls his hand around Jeonghan’s jaw. Looks at him with parted lips as he slips into an expression of wonder and amusement.

“My name is Joshua,” he murmurs, eyes shining with something eerily inviting in the low light. “Welcome to your new family.”

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you familiar with the Dark Brotherhood questline, you might notice the scene in the shack was pretty similar to the one in-game, down to some parts of the dialogue. At times this fic will take references (sometimes direct) from the game, and other times it will vary wildly.   
Thank you endlessly to Any, for beta'ing and for keeping me sane throughout this process. This wouldn't exist without your help. Thank you to Jarki for letting me dump all this au info on you no matter how wild it got or how many reaction images you had to send. I adore you both.   
Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated ♡   
[Fic Twitter](https://twitter.com/pinkwinwin)   
[Main Twitter](https://twitter.com/truantseeker)   
[Curious Cat](https://curiouscat.me/pinkwinwin)


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